


Weeding out the Emotions

by sorcererofsupremepizza



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Unilock, hycroft, mycroft gets high, university party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 02:21:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13378086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorcererofsupremepizza/pseuds/sorcererofsupremepizza
Summary: University-age Mycroft attends his first college party in the hope of seeing Greg Lestrade and telling him how he feels. Things get a little complicated when Mycroft imbibes a potentially dangerous pot brownie. Or three.





	Weeding out the Emotions

Mycroft Holmes ran his fingers through his ginger hair, carding it rather nervously. The dull thud of bass-heavy music could be heard as he approached the dilapidated house. The door was already open, two rugby jocks pushing each other back and forth, bottles of beer in their hands. It wasn’t long before the two were staggering off the porch, muttering about their current level of inebriation. Mycroft shook his head at the ridiculous sight.

Why was he doing this? House parties were not his natural milieu, and they never would be.

There was only one reason he was standing outside of this house, anxious as ever. He glanced down at his attire, feeling rather out of place. He’d just finished a late night at his internship at a local law firm, so he was still dressed rather formally in a navy-blue waistcoat, crisp white shirt, and a coordinating black tie. He finished the look with matching trousers and black Oxfords. Giving himself a once over, he definitely felt out of touch with this run-down locale.

But, there was something he had to do. Someone he needed to see.

Taking a deep breath, steeling himself, Mycroft placed his hand in his pocket and strode toward the door. He straightened his already perfect necktie and stepped through the door, the heavy metal rock music blaring even louder now. The house was packed with bodies moshing to and fro. Before he could take stock of exactly how many people were there, someone was hauling him into the mix and thrusting a drink in his hand.

Mycroft’s eyes widened as he made a dash for the kitchen, figuring it might be a little less crowded. Indeed it was; only two people were there, and they were snogging rather passionately. Mycroft felt his cheeks redden and was about to duck out of the room when someone else stepped into the room. The elder Holmes brother recognized him instantly.

The spiked brown hair and the gorgeous eyes, the tattered rugby shirt snug against his rather well-muscled form and a pair of faded, hole-ridden blue jeans. Mycroft even noticed the start of a beard on the man’s chiseled face. He swallowed harshly, unable to avert his gaze in that moment as he steadily became lost in the details of Greg Lestrade’s perfect face.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the genius Mycroft Holmes!” Lestrade said with a slightly chuckle. Mycroft snapped out of his current daze with a shake of the head. “I never thought I’d see you at one of these parties.”

“Salutations, Lestrade. I must say, this is not the usual event I frequent. There are exceptions to everything, however.” Mycroft trailed off before he admitted the true reason he was there. Lestrade nodded to him.

“Fair enough. I’m happy you’re here. You need to loosen up a little.” Lestrade nudged his friend—what else was he supposed to call Holmes—on the arm. “Would you like a drink?”

Mycroft shook his head, but Lestrade was already grabbing a bottle out of the nearby refrigerator. He popped the lid off without any effort and handed it to Mycroft. A small waft of frosty steam steadily streamed upward from the top of it. He was about to protest, but Lestrade cut him off.

“It’s a light beer. I know you’re struggling with your diet, but I still wanted you to have fun.” Lestrade shrugged like it was nothing and knocked back his own bottle of booze. Mycroft blinked, as did his brain as he tried to compute what just happened. In his distracted state, Mycroft brought the brown bottle directly against his nose, bumping into it instead of taking a swig. The slight tap knocked him back to reality. Or maybe it was Lestrade laughing at him. “You alright, Myc? Do you mind if I call you that? I know we haven’t know each other long, but I think it suits you.”

Mycroft wished he could hide the redness on his face in that moment. He also wished he could jump Lestrade’s bones in that moment, but he maintained the façade of decorum as he sipped his light beer. “That’s fine…Gregory.” He tested the name on his lips, enjoying how it made him feel.

Greg chuckled. “It’s Greg, you know.”

“And mine’s Mycroft. I’ll call you what I like.” Holmes said, feeling a bit braver now.

Another laugh from the gorgeous athlete/criminology student. Mycroft nearly swooned. “So, would you like to actually join the party, or are you just going to hide in the kitchen all night?”

Mycroft glanced at Lestrade, taking another drink of his beer. “My little brother would have made a joke at the expense of my dietary restrictions somewhere in that statement. I appreciate you not doing so.”

Lestrade’s brow furrowed in a rather perplexed fashion as he tried to muddle through Mycroft’s words. “You have a little brother?”

Mycroft waved a hand. “Yes, and I don’t want to discuss him right now. I’m here to—” he almost said, ‘be with you’ but caught himself and instead said: “to relax and party.” Even to him it sounded wrong. To keep up the image, he ducked past Greg, leaving the kitchen and returning to the main room of the house. Many of the mosh pit had either dispersed to other parts of the house or outside.

Now that the room was less crowded, Mycroft noticed a table full of snacks across the room. He felt his stomach rumble—he hadn’t eaten all day—and traipsed over there. The table was stacked with crisps, sweets, empty alcohol cans, and to Mycroft’s delight: brownies. He knew he shouldn’t break his diet, but he was so damn hungry in that moment.

“Oh to hell with it.” Mycroft patted his already rather flat stomach, frowning at himself, but elected to pick up three brownies. He bit into the gooey chocolate delight and sighed. Chocolate was total bliss. Food was always great.

 

By the time Lestrade had caught up with him again—Greg had been dragged into a drinking game with some of the other jocks—Mycroft had finished two of the brownies and was well into the third. Greg walked up to him and smiled.

“There you are,” he said, but he stopped short as he saw the brownie in the well-dressed man’s hand. Greg’s eyes widened. “Mycroft! Tell me you didn’t eat one of those brownies?”

Mycroft finished devouring the third one and then turned to Greg, his mouth full. “Is there a problem, Gregory?”

“You really should have stuck to your diet, Myc. Especially here.” Greg said. Mycroft finished chewing and then understanding dawned on his face.

“Y-you mean that I just imbibed mind-altering substances, don’t you?” Mycroft said. He didn’t feel any different though.

“Yeah, those are pot brownies. You’ve never had one before. You should have had one, probably just a half. But you had three.”

Mycroft stared at him. “I’m fine, Greg. Clearly the THC hasn’t been released into my bloodstream yet. You did tell me to loosen up, after all.” Under this calm and cool exterior, Mycroft was freaking out. What if he did something stupid in front of Greg and the other man never wanted to talk to him again? Hell, Mycroft didn’t even know if Greg felt the same way about him yet! This wasn’t fair. He needed to get out of here, and as soon as possible.

Before he could make his way toward the door, it was like a switch had been flicked in his mind. A huge wave of complete and total euphoria washed over him, and he leaned against the nearby wall. The steady beat of the music seemed to be bearing down on him; he could feel it in his chest. Time seemed to slow down, and Mycroft slid down the wall to sit on the floor.

A rather goofy smile appeared on his face as he sat there looking around the room. Greg peered down at him and shook his head, then crouched down in front of him. “You alright, Myc?”

Mycroft didn’t answer right away. Instead, he swayed back and forth with the music—it was a slower song now—that played. His eyes slipped shut as he lost himself to the music. Mentally, he could feel the drug taking effect. The THC was steadily entering his bloodstream now. He knew it took longer because the drug had to go through the digestive system first, but it had been about 30 minutes since he finished the first two brownies.

When he opened his eyes again, he looked directly at Greg. “Gregorrrrryyyyyy, there you are!” His words were drawn out, almost a purr. Lestrade laughed and reached out to squeeze Mycroft’s shoulder.

“Hey, stay with me. Don’t pass out on me now.”

“I would never pass you up, Greg. Never.” Mycroft said, not noticing that what he said was completely wrong. Lestrade piqued an eyebrow at that, but didn’t pay it much mind.

“Maybe we should get you some fresh air, Myc.” Greg said, getting to his feet and offering Mycroft a hand to help him up. Mycroft stared at the hand and reached for it, but the marijuana was really taking effect now and his depth perception was off, which meant that his hand ended up inches to the right.

This elicited another laugh from Greg, and he grabbed Mycroft’s hand, hauling him to his feet. Mycroft stumbled slightly as he stood there. “Easy now. You took a lot. You might feel a little strange.”

“I’ve never felt better, Gregory!” Mycroft said, throwing an arm around the other man without a second thought. Greg glanced at him.

“Come on you, let’s go outside.” Greg said, watching his friend carefully as they went out the back door to sit on the step.

Mycroft sat down with a rather loud thud, causing himself to sway back and forth again. Lestrade caught him before he fell over, and Mycroft met Lestrade’s gaze with a rather intense one of his own. It was over before Lestrade could think about it further: Mycroft just looked the other way and watched as some of the jocks played football in the street nearby. His entire body felt weird, and the more he sat there, the less euphoric he felt. He rubbed his face and sighed, scrunching his eyes up rather tight.

Greg watched him. He had seen this before. Inexperienced people went one way or the other: total bliss or total panic. With as much pot as Mycroft—or should that be Hycroft?—consumed, it would be the latter.

Mycroft sat up a little straighter and looked over at him. His pulse had picked up in speed, and it felt like his skin was crawling. He started itching his arms, then his legs. Everything felt wrong. He tore at his necktie, tossing it to the side, unbuttoning several buttons of his shirt and discarding his waistcoat (in that order). Greg caught the vest as it flew in his direction, and he couldn’t help but notice how damn good it smelled.

He immediately shook that thought away. “Mycroft, Mycroft! Easy, easy. It’s fine. You’re fine. I’m here.”

It seemed to have the desired effect: Mycroft calmed down and sat still turning to face him. “Gregory.”

“Myc.” Greg nodded to him.

“I, uh…I need to tell you something.” Mycroft said, scratching his face rather nervously. “We’re friends, and I just, um, oh dear.”

Greg’s brow furrowed as Mycroft struggled. Odd, the elder Holmes was never one to struggle with words. Quite the opposite, in fact. “Go on, Myc.”

“I, I don’t feel so good.” Mycroft said.

Greg raised an eyebrow. “That’s what you wanted to tell me?”

Mycroft couldn’t reply, because he was now doubled over, throwing up on Greg’s brand new high-top sneakers. Greg winced as he heard the noises coming from Mycroft, but he felt as if he were seeing him for the first time. As Mycroft retched across his shoes, Greg could see the rather handsome lad before him. He smiled slightly and patted Mycroft on the back in a comforting manner.

When Mycroft was finished, and he sat back up, he wiped his mouth and sighed. “My deepest apologies, Gregory.” He wiped his face again, feeling rather miserable.

Greg just put his arm around the other man and smiled slightly. “Don’t apologize, Myc. I should have kept my eye on you since this was your first party.”

“And my last,” Mycroft said, moving into Greg’s embrace without even realizing it, with a laugh.

Greg nodded. “I can understand that. Maybe I should quit the party scene too. I should pay more attention to my classes.”

Mycroft looked over at him, a crooked smile on his face. “A fine choice, Gregory. I really don’t understand the fascination with these parties.”

“You know, me neither.” Greg said, peering into Mycroft’s eyes. “Plus, if I stop going to them, maybe I’ll be able to spend more time with you.”

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself. Mycroft looked over at him, feeling a lot better in that moment. He also noticed just how close Greg was to him. Mycroft felt his heart pumping, and it wasn’t from the THC this time.

“Greg, about what I wanted to tell you earlier—

“Hush, Mycroft. I want to try something.” And then he leaned over, about to place his lips on Mycroft’s. Mycroft put a finger against them, hating himself for doing so, but what Greg was about to do was very unsanitary.

“Greg, I just vomited. All over your shoes.” Mycroft said.

Greg sat back a little. “True. Maybe we should clean up before we do anything else.” Mycroft laughed and stood up, still feeling a little woozy. He offered a hand to Greg to help him up. Greg smiled and took it. And before he knew it, Greg was throwing his arms around him and shoving his lips against his.

Mycroft soon melted into the kiss, all ideas of how gross this situation was now gone. When it was over, Greg pulled away and smiled at him. “Wow.”

Mycroft stood there, unsure of what to do. That state of total euphoria was back, and he wanted nothing more than to attack Greg’s lips with his own for a long, long time.

“Turns out I really don’t care that you’ve just vomited all over my shoes. I just really want to kiss you again.” Greg said, smirking at Mycroft.

“You know, I think that’s the smartest thing you’ve ever said.” Mycroft said, throwing himself back into Greg’s arms.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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